


Subtlety

by Felixbug



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“G-god, Hancock,” Kent groans – and they’re not in the Rexford, they’re still in the bar, and Hancock’s hand is between their bodies. Judging by the way his shoulder moves and the way Kent buries his face in his shoulder with a shaky moan, he’s doing more than teasing. Erik’s torn between watching them, joining them, or grabbing them both and hauling them into the nearest semi-private place. He needs his cock or fingers or tongue in one or both of them as soon as possible, if not sooner.</i>
</p>
<p>Kent is loud getting his cock sucked, so of course, Hancock decides to do it in public. Everyone's drunk but this is enthusiastically consensual in an established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtlety

**Author's Note:**

> [THIS](http://wholesomeghoulfucker.tumblr.com/tagged/erik) is Erik, if you're curious. He's big and gay and kinky, sided with the Railroad, and romanced Hancock. He started sleeping with Kent during the Silver Shroud quest, and the three of them got together after it. Maybe I'll write something with a bit more plot about these three eventually, but right now, here's some plot-free sin. 
> 
> There's some very mild references to BDSM in dialogue in this one, but everything that actually happens in the fic is vanilla aside from the fact that it's happening in a crowded bar B)

Sometimes, Erik wonders how he got so lucky. Two hundred years removed from everything he’d ever known, waking up to the wasteland and it’s many and varied attempts to kill him, it’s a miracle he survived at all. Two years after stumbling out of Vault 111 and he’s still standing – or sitting, at least, leaning back on his stool against the wall, legs stretched out under the table, watching Hancock pour himself into Kent’s lap.

Erik reaches for his drink, and is only half-surprised to find it almost empty. He and Hancock seem to have drunk half the contents of the bar tonight, and Kent isn’t too far behind. He’s flushed – as much as ghouls _can_ be, at least – his skin’s darkened in rough patches across his cheeks, and his lip’s caught between his teeth. That’s not the alcohol though – that’s Hancock. His hands are everywhere – nimble fingers dancing under Kent’s shirt, trailing down his neck, and toying with the buttons of his shirt. He squirms in Kent’s lap, and Erik groans under his breath, shifting as his own cock stirs against his thigh.

God, he’s lucky to have found either of them, never mind both. Hancock’s pure sin compressed into 5’2” of wiry muscle and bone, and Kent is shockingly filthy once he’s stripped of clothes and restraint and there’s a hot tongue in his ass and firm hands spanking him into a whimpering, begging mess. Hancock flashes Erik a wicked grin before leaning close to Kent and murmuring something against his ear that makes him gasp, hands fisting in the back of Hancock’s shirt. It sparks a memory that leaves Erik’s pulse racing – the night before, the three of them tangled in a narrow bed at the Rexford, with Kent shoved face-first into the bed and his firm, round ass gripped in Erik’s hands. Every deep thrust had driven ragged screams from him, and Erik remembers the way his hands twisted in the yellowed cotton sheets, the way his thighs shook, the way his cries were muffled as Hancock’s cock slid into his throat.

“G-god, Hancock,” Kent groans – and they’re not in the Rexford, they’re still in the bar, and Hancock’s hand is between their bodies. Judging by the way his shoulder moves and the way Kent buries his face in his shoulder with a shaky moan, he’s doing more than teasing. Erik’s torn between watching them, joining them, or grabbing them both and hauling them into the nearest semi-private place. He needs his cock or fingers or tongue in one or both of them as soon as possible, if not _sooner_.

Hancock’s elbow jerks back and knocks an empty bottle rolling – and he catches Erik’s eye over his shoulder with a smirk. Erik’s breath catches – it’s _not_ the first time Hancock’s used this trick, but it’s the first time Kent’s been his target. Erik can do subtle, if he’s got a good enough reason – he can set his jaw and swallow his groans and keep a straight face while Hancock’s lips and tongue do everything in their power to break his restraint. Kent’s already squirming and panting – he doesn’t stand a chance.

“Shit,” Hancock says, his voice deep and rasping in that way that goes straight to Erik’s cock. “Better get that.”

Erik watches him descend, hat knocked crooked as he ducks his head for a final nip at Kent’s exposed collarbone before slipping beneath the edge of the table and out of sight. Kent catches Erik’s eye – and yeah, that’s definitely a blush darkening his cheeks and throat.

“Having fun, gorgeous?”

“Yeah – _ah_.” His eyes widen, and his hands clench into fists on the surface of the table. “Oh – _oh…_ ”

“If you’re not comfortable with this, let me know. I’ll haul his tiny, drunk ass out of there.” Erik shifts his stool closer, and trails his fingers up Kent’s wrist. The slightly roughened texture of his skin is familiar now and calls to mind a thousand memories of exploring Kent’s body – and Hancock’s – with eager lips and tongue.

“D-don’t you dare. _God_ he’s good.” Kent gasps, eyes half-closed, and his head falls back against the wall. “I’m – Erik, I’ve never done a-anything like this…”

“Yeah, I guessed.” Erik slides into Hancock’s abandoned seat, and lets one hand fall beneath the table to grip Kent’s thigh. He’s shaking – every breath quick and urgent, and Erik can feel the subtle shifting in the muscle under his hand as Kent struggles not to thrust into the wicked mouth he knows so well. “The aim is to _not_ get caught.”

He laughs at Kent’s cracked moan, and can’t resist groping roughly at his thigh, kneading with his fingertips until Kent’s control unravels and he thrusts, swallowing a desperate whimper. It’s hard to be sure in the noise and chaos of the bar, but Erik thinks he hears Hancock gag, and _knows_ he hears the throaty moan that follows it. Kent gasps, and Erik knows how damn good it feels to have Hancock’s hot, slick throat humming around his cock, to feel that wicked tongue working his shaft with every choked groan he drags from the skinny ghoul. It’s a miracle Kent isn’t _begging_ – his bony fingers clenched in tight fists, chest heaving, lips parted.

“We’re just getting started,” Erik murmurs. He grips harder – hard enough to hurt, hard enough to _bruise,_ just the way Kent likes it, and he’s rewarded with a shaky whimper.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he growls, and leans close until his lips are brushing the soft, scarred shape of Kent’s ear. “Your ass grinding back on my cock, how – fucking – _gorgeous_ you looked when we were done with you, fucked open and _dripping_ with come.”

“G-god, Erik.” Kent bites his lip, and Erik feels Hancock’s cheek brush his fingers, slick with smeared drool.

“Those little breathless sobs you make when Hancock spanks you.” Erik groans, and catches Kent’s earlobe between his teeth. The skin’s like leather, rippled and melted by radiation, and it was new and different once but now it’s just _Kent,_ and he knows what he likes. He bites, hard, and tugs with a growl that leaves Kent panting. “The _screams_ I fucked out of you, with his come still running down your thighs.”

“Oh – oh _fuck_ …”

That’s rare, from Kent – Hancock snarls _fuck_ with every breath when Erik’s mouth is on his cock or his tongue is darting into the tight clench of his ass, but on Kent’s lips it sounds obscene in all the best ways. Erik smirks against his ear and nips at the softened edge, letting his breath rasp against Kent’s skin as he shudders and whimpers between his lovers.

“Could do it all again,” Erik whispers. “Right here. Bend you over the table and let everyone here see how beautifully you whimper.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Kent breathes.

“Show them all how fucking _pretty_ you are stuffed full of cock and begging for more.”

“ _Nngh…_ ”

“Come over your ass…”

“ _Please…_ ”

“…your face…”

“E-Erik… oh god… I…” Kent’s voice cracks and he arches, hips lifting from his seat as one hand shoots under the table to curl around the back of Hancock’s head. They’re attracting a few curious glances, and if everyone here wasn’t near-literally blind drunk, they’d be gathering a crowd. Erik tightens his grip on Kent’s thigh and pushes him down, growling against his neck as his teeth rasp over leathery skin.

“Ssh, love,” he murmurs.

“I – I can’t…” Kent keens, and Erik feels the shuddering tension in his thigh. “He’s too good – you’re too good – oh – _oh that’s – yes…_ ”

Kent’s feet shift on the floor, knocking the table. It scrapes back a few inches and Erik glances down, his own cock achingly hard as he watches Hancock swallow Kent down to the base. His hat’s been knocked off – probably by Kent, who’s grasping the back of his head with nails digging into his skin, and his lips are stretched wide around Kent’s spit-drenched shaft. Kent’s pants have slid low on his hips, exposing ridges of bone and ripples of twisted, scarred, beautiful skin. Erik wants to bite every inch of his body, strip him naked and explore with fingers and tongue until he’s shaking. He wants Hancock’s mouth on him – wants to feel what Kent’s feeling now as he tangles his free hand in Erik’s hair and arches, whimpering, between them.

Kent’s scream doesn’t make it past his lips. Erik covers his mouth with his own, his own guttural moan tangling with Kent’s ragged, shattered cry in a clash of teeth and tongues. He bites his lip, snarls against it, before letting his tongue soothe away the sting and chase every broken whimper rising from Kent’s straining throat. He feels the tension snap in Kent’s taut body, feels him fall apart and hears Hancock choke and splutter on the come flooding his tongue. Erik grins against Kent’s lips as Hancock moans and Kent thrusts up into the sound, chasing every last flicker of pleasure. If anyone’s watching, they know – but the Third Rail isn’t the kind of place where anyone minds, and Erik’s far beyond caring what anyone thinks of the three of them.

“Found it,” Hancock says, wriggling out from under the table.

The empty bottle is caught in one hand, his hat in the other, and he settles it back on his head with a smirk as he straddles Kent’s thigh. He sets the bottle on the table and drops his hand to run teasing fingers up Kent’s softening length, ducking his head to capture his lips as Kent whimpers. There’s come smeared on his lips, clinging in sticky trails to his chin, and Kent keens into his mouth as Hancock kisses him hard, growling, panting, claiming his mouth with every flicker of tongue. Erik watches – and he’s a patient man, but he’s watched _enough_. He grabs Hancock’s shirt and hauls him close, and his tongue swipes the spill of Kent’s seed from Hancock’s skin before he’s moaning into the skinny ghoul’s mouth, hands sliding down to grip his ass and squeeze – hard.

“Back to the hotel,” he growls against his lips. “Now, please.”

“Too far.” Hancock pulls back with a smirk, black eyes gleaming in the low light beneath the deep shadow of his hat. He licks his lips – slow, and beautifully filthy, and runs his fingers down Erik’s chest. “I’ve got a key to the back room.”

“Thank god.” Erik grins, and finishes the last of his drink. “Lead the way.”


End file.
